


A heartbeat, in flames

by 35391291



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: There are nightmares and needles trapped in her hair.

A look into Lady Pole's enchantment.





	A heartbeat, in flames

Lately, there are spiral staircases in her dreams. At the top, smoke coils and rises, like wings. But there is no rooftop anymore, only a sky of red, with traces of colour painted by an imaginary friend. There is music, alive in these barren halls. It is haunting, intoxicating. It is too much, and yet not enough. Her old memories infect the horizon and fade into the fog, defeated by the distance. There are so many lost beacons of hope. Falling, always falling, shut down by the night.

There is a peculiar frailty about everything around her. So much has changed, so many nightmares escape unnoticed. She could have sworn that they were not there before. Or perhaps, she has failed to notice them. Her mind is full of words, and they resemble trees, lighting up like matches. Birds fly by, searching, never realizing what has been lost.

Her heart feels stranger now, raw and desolate. Her hands fold and unfold, losing their grip on unspoken stories of reclusion and mistakes. They take flight, like birds trying to hold back her heart. She feels like a ship lost at sea, perhaps burning, but rejecting its own ashes. But that is not what she means to say, not at all. What is this, then? It feels like finding a single rose, too late. It has all gone wrong.

Her fear is a half beat, a heartbeat, in flames. Burnt, it turns to cobalt on her skin. But the pain won't go off, and it becomes something like a time bomb. It transforms her soul, wounds it, turns it into rags. Her needle keeps them in place, and her mouth is a fountain full of half-spoken lies. She hides sunset tears, sad like blood, in this ever encompassing sky.

She tries to fight back, tracing a new bird-like sternum for herself. Smoke will trade with her, until she forgets her own face. There are nightmares and needles trapped in her hair. The sunset will always be her enemy, always remind her of what she has lost. Soon her fingertips will roar, her imagination will devour and destroy everything. Sleep is impossible now, forever tied up in smoke.


End file.
